


A Very, Very, Very Fine House

by mizface



Category: due South
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 14:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/pseuds/mizface
Summary: Fraser, Ray and Ray - still together in 2018.





	A Very, Very, Very Fine House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ButterflyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/gifts).



> Many thanks to BGhost for the most excellent prompt of current-day Fraser, Ray and Ray - my muse latched onto it immediately and it was a joy to write.
> 
> Thanks also to the mods for running this, and especially Ride, who was kind enough to step in as beta when mine, for excellent reasons, was unavailable.
> 
> Title from Our House, by Crosby, Stills Nash and Young

Fraser came home to find Ray in the kitchen, humming along to a CD while rinsing a mixing bowl. Several more sat propped in the drying rack, along with beaters and spoons. Fraser didn’t think he’d been noticed, but Ray’s hips started swaying in an obviously seductive manner; a moment later Ray turned his head, winking and smiling at Fraser before finishing his task and turning off the water. His glasses were pushed back onto his head, and one cheek was streaked with something white. Even without the display, Fraser couldn’t have helped but walk over to wrap his arms around Ray from behind and nuzzle his neck.  
   
Ray leaned into it for a second before flexing his back to nudge Fraser away. “Hey, lemme dry my hands, unless you want a wet uniform.”  
   
Fraser released Ray long enough for him to grab a dishtowel, then pulled him back in for a proper kiss hello. He silently thanked whatever made Ray decide to grow out his facial hair. The scruff had been nice, in certain situations, but the longer, softer mustache and goatee definitely held their own charms. And Ray looked damn fine with them, bits of white here and there making his hair look a lighter blond, rather than the brown he used to bleach away.  
   
“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” Ray said, smiling as the kiss ended. “Glad to know I’ve still got the moves.”  
  
“You do,” Fraser agreed easily, brushing what turned out to be powdered sugar from Ray’s cheek. “Though I have to say I’m a little surprised you’re in here. I thought Ray banished you from the kitchen.”  
   
“He’s not the boss of me,” Ray countered. The timer buzzed, cutting off any further reply. Ray extricated himself from Fraser’s arms, moving to turn on the oven light and peer inside, door still closed. He nodded, satisfied, and turned the oven off. “Besides, it’s a celebration.”  
   
Ah. That explained it. “Ray’s book came in.”  
   
“Yep. He’s squirreled away in the study, moaning over each and every comma his editor wants taken out.” It was flippant, but Fraser didn’t chide him for it. He and Ray and Ray had gone over the draft multiple times for simple spelling and grammar errors before sending it off (not to mention all the evenings spent talking through a plot point or helping Ray research finer details or Ray and Ray arguing level of procedure versus what Ray referred to as the “boring them out of the book” factor.) Never mind that this was Ray’s fifth novel; they were his children and he was, of course, fiercely protective of each one.  
   
“Anyhow, you know how he gets when the editor’s notes come back, so I decided staying out of his way was best for all of us.”  
   
“How magnanimous of you.”  
   
Ray grinned, eyebrows waggling. “Yeah, hoping it’ll earn me some brownie points tonight.”  
   
Fraser had no doubts that it would. “So what are you making?”  
   
“Those lemon meringue cookies he likes so much.”  
   
Fraser quirked an eyebrow; that particular recipe, while delicious, wasn’t an easy one, based on Ray’s creative swearing the last time he made them. “Just how many points are you trying to earn?”  
   
“Hey, nothing wrong with sweetening the pot,” Ray chuckled. “Literally if I have to.”  
   
“Well, I’m glad you’re using your baking skills for good.”  
   
“Don’t sass. Besides, you’re partly to blame for this.” He nodded toward the open book on the counter. “You’re the one who made that thing readable.”  
   
Fraser couldn’t argue that point. The cookbook had been a Christmas gift, when Ray had first become obsessed with baking after watching a British series on Netflix. Ray had originally ordered it for himself, very happy to find a book of recipes based on the show, not realizing all the measurements would be metric. “The American brain is not meant to understand grams, Fraser,” he’d said, disappointment lacing his words as he chucked the book into their charity box.  
   
Fraser had taken the book out before delivering the rest of the items, and secretly converted all the measurements, writing them neatly next to the metric in each recipe. It had taken a lot of work lunches, but the result had been worth it for the look on Ray’s face when he’d opened it (after complaining until Ray had gruffly taken it from him, opened it to a random page, and said, holding it in Ray’s face, “Maybe finish opening the present before bitching about it, Stanley. You think Benny’s going to give you a thing you can’t use?”)   
   
“How are the baby Mounties?” Ray asked as he moved the book to its place on the shelf. He still forgot to put his clothes in the hamper on a regular basis, but once he’d started baking, he’d become surprisingly meticulous about the kitchen.  
   
“Most of them are coming along quite well. I’m pleased overall with the class.”  
   
“Frick and Frack still giving you trouble?”  
   
Fraser sighed. “Fenderson and Folcombe still aren’t as serious about my course as I’d like, but there’s always a few who choose it thinking it will be easy to pass.” It was ridiculous, but true. Why anyone would think a wilderness survival course would be easy was beyond him.  
   
Ray shook his head. “It’s like they’ve never heard of you.”  
   
There was that, too. Between his years actively on the force, and years of teaching his eclectic classes, Fraser had garnered something of a reputation. “It will sort itself out. They’ll either buckle down, or they’ll change to a more administrative track. They’ve got the potential to be decent Mounties. They just have to focus.”  
   
“Nice that there aren’t any total washouts this time. You always take those too personally.”  
   
Considering that Ray was just as invested in the youth he mentored, and just as distraught if one of them fell back into less-than legal activities, Fraser thought that was a very pot-kettle remark. But since that was an argument they’d had time and again, Fraser felt no remorse in ignoring the comment completely. “Where’s Tupper?”  
   
“Nice change of subject,” Ray laughed. “The mutt’s out back with the pups. I think he’s convinced he’s still six months old, instead of six years.”  
   
It was true, and one of the things that made him most like his grandsire. Well, that and his penchant for baked goods. Luckily for him, Ray wasn’t above making homemade dog cookies.  
   
“Have they been put through their paces today?”  
   
“Nope. I was getting ready to when the courier got here. But these things take for-freaking-ever to cool, so I’ve got time now. Want to join me?”  
   
Fraser shook his head. “Perhaps in a bit. I should check in on Ray.”  
   
Ray’s gaze became more focused. “Your knee acting up again? Or your back?”  
   
“Neither, but thank you kindly for your concern,” he answered honestly. “Besides, you and I both know that the first fifteen to twenty minutes of training is just you roughhousing with the pups.”  
   
“You say potato, I say spud. What you call roughhousing, I call getting their yayas out so they’re calmer when they’re hitched to a sled.” Fraser just looked at him, and after a minute Ray shrugged, laughing. “And yeah, maybe it’s partly because it’s fun. But hey, it’s also a bonding thing. So yeah. A bonding-fun-roughhousing thing. Nothing wrong with that.”  
   
Ray kissed Fraser once more before heading toward the door to the mudroom. He stopped, hand on the knob, and turned back. “Hey, maybe you could switch with Ray for dinner duty, huh? You know he’ll be useless until that book’s been gone through once.”  
   
“True. I’m sure I could whip something together, even without the oven.”  
   
“As long as it ain’t pemmican,” he grinned, darting out before Fraser could reply. Fraser shook his head; he was certain he’d have a chance to tease Ray back before the evening was done.  
   
After a quick look through the pantry and refrigerator, he made his way through the house to the study. The door was ajar, and Fraser took a moment to watch Ray at his desk, focused intently on the draft of the book in front of him. He had a pen out, tapping it as he read and then shifting to make a note on the pad of paper next to it. The scene was heartening; his editor must not have been too hard on him.  
   
Fraser knocked lightly on the door as he pushed it open. “Is it safe to enter?” he asked.  
   
“Hey, if it isn’t my favorite silver fox!” Ray smiled warmly, peering up from the book, glasses perched low on his nose.   
   
Fraser resisted the urge to run a hand over his hair. While Ray’s had some white, and Ray’s very close-cropped hair also had gray of some sort, it was nearly impossible to tell. Of the three, Fraser’s seemed the most telling as to his age, and he tried not to be self-conscious about it. The fact that both Ray and Ray found it attractive helped.  
   
Ray, of course, knew what he was thinking. “Stop worrying and get over here for a kiss,” he demanded, taking off his glasses and leaning forward in his chair. Fraser was all too happy to comply, one hand on the desk for balance, the other cupping Ray’s cheek.  
   
“It appears that Ray’s left you alone for nothing,” he said as they parted, shifting so he could perch on the corner of the desk.  
   
“Eh, it wasn’t a bad idea. I was maybe a little harsh when I first opened the package.” He glanced down at his notes. “I’m telling you what, if anyone had told me back when I was at the 27th that in the future I’d be writing books, I’d have laughed them out of the precinct.”  
   
“Given your feelings about writing reports, that seems a fair reaction,” Fraser agreed. “But there’s nothing major to change?”  
   
“So far? Nothing I wasn’t expecting. But I’m only about halfway through, so don’t hold me to that.”  
   
“Of course not, Ray.” Whatever Fraser had been about to say next was interrupted by a frenzy of barking, a little distant but still audible.  
   
“Good, he needed to get out of the house for awhile,” Ray said with a nod. “I had the feeling he was hovering, just waiting for me to melt down.”  
   
“He seemed to be keeping himself busy when I got home.”  
   
“Busy?” Ray leaned back in his chair with a groan. “Oh geez, was he in the kitchen? Tell me he wasn’t in the kitchen, Benny.”  
   
“You wouldn’t have me lie to you, would you?”  
   
Ray shook his head. “I was going to make a baked manicotti, but I’m guessing that’s out of the picture, huh?”  
   
“Only if you don’t want to eat closer to nine than six,” Fraser agreed. “You can make it tomorrow; I’m in the mood to cook, and saw several good alternatives when I was in the kitchen.”  
   
Ray narrowed his eyes. “Are you handling me, Benton Fraser?”  
   
_Not in the way I’d like_ , Ray’s voice said clearly in Fraser’s imagination. Aloud, he replied, “It isn’t handling so much as learning from experience. We’ll all be happier, and better fed, if you concentrate on the book.”  
   
“I guess that’s true enough.” He started to say something else, but his stomach grumbled, causing both men to chuckle. “And it sounds like my stomach agrees. So go on, get changed and start dinner, huh? All this reading is hard work.”  
   
Fraser kissed Ray before leaving him to his task, the evening ahead unrolling in his mind. A nice, if brief, dinner, so that Ray could get back to his work. Ray and Fraser teasing each other as they cleaned the kitchen, Tupper underfoot as he tried to convince them he’d not eaten that day. Ray sneaking him bits of leftovers, knowing Fraser noticed. The three of them enjoying Ray’s dessert and talking about their days once Ray finished his first look at the editor’s notes.  
   
And if all went well, the promise of heated looks and Ray’s brownie points earned would be fulfilled.


End file.
